Chapter 24 The Veteran's Persistence

My body was brimming with energy, despite the heavy beads of sweat rolling down my forehead and my breathing growing slightly rapid. I knew that this sensation was a form of power to me—or rather, an instinct for scoring, and I had always trusted my instinct.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Rondo and Ray Allen. I knew that if I wanted to enter my scoring zone, I had to treat them as absolute non-entities.

I caught the ball and immediately accelerated. Rondo was clearly still wary of my quick crossovers. He stood right in front of me, unaware that once my speed picked up, I was completely unguardable. With a single-handed crossover and a left-sided spin move, I flashed past him. What I had counted on was his psychological vulnerability—he still carried a psychological shadow from the time I had shaken him so badly it caused a fracture. As the saying goes, once bitten by a snake, ten years terrified of well ropes; this mental shadow directly caused his reaction time to sluggishly lag, and against me, slowness was undoubtedly fatal. Having slipped past Rondo, I felt as though I could charge straight ahead, because those aging limbs of the Celtics simply could not keep up with my pace. Their interior defenders didn't even move, knowing it would conserve their stamina. Dribbling rapidly, I crossed the half-court line. I now had two choices: if I drove straight into the paint for a layup, I was ninety percent certain it would go in; or I could pull up at the three-point line, pausing slightly before letting fly, which would still give me at least a seventy-fraction shooting percentage. Calculating it out, the expected value for the former was 1.8, while the latter was 2.1—the latter seemed far more cost-effective. Hahaha, I felt like a top-tier mental arithmetic genius to arrive at such a conclusion so quickly.

"Swish"—I could practically hear the sound of the ball leaving my hands, and to be honest, I loved that sound. Once released, I also loved watching the ball trace its spinning arc through the air; it seemed I was naturally fond of parabolic motion. The ball dropped steadily through the hoop. Right now, I really wanted to know what was going on in Ray Allen's mind, truly, because he had crossed paths with an elite marksman like me. If possible, I still hoped to learn shooting from him, even though his shooting percentage wasn't as high as mine. But this was the truth! I felt that my shooting boiled down to a single word—"speed"—while Ray Allen's shooting possessed a genuine elegance. Furthermore, his off-ball movement seemed far superior to mine; when I lost the ball, I struggled to find my orientation, and my offensive impact diminished significantly. Ray Allen was different; he was often even more threatening without the ball than when he was holding it.

I had put up three points for my team! Now it was up to the Celtics to respond. To be honest, I felt this game was going to be a tough battle. Right from the opening tip, they were playing offense with their lives on the line. They were supposed to be one of the best team-defense units in the league, yet here they were, playing relentless, desperate offense.

Next, Garnett went to work in the post. Watching his footwork, you could hardly believe he was a player well into his thirties. Jobus was completely helpless against players who possessed both physical toughness and skill—I knew this very well. With a simple turn and fadeaway jumper, Garnett easily scored while drawing a foul on Jobus at the same time. This was already the second time he had turned an opponent's shot into a three-point play against Jobus. After scoring, he beat his chest and let out a fierce roar. Coach Nelson promptly subbed Jobus out, sending in Claulderson to guard Garnett. The coach knew very well that Garnett surely couldn't keep this up for many more minutes. Garnett sank the ensuing free throw, tying the game once more. I wondered if it was time for me to exact vengeance for my teammate.

I held the ball, consumed by a single resolve! At a juncture like this, I had to push through.

It was Rondo again. This time he was much smarter; he copied the way I defended him, backing off me by a single step. That distance was likely based on his belief that I couldn't blow past him in two consecutive steps. To be honest, I truly pitied him. He seemed completely lost, having clearly studied mountains of my game film. In a situation like this, I could easily fake a step and rise up for a jumper. I effortlessly brought the ball across mid-court, feigning an intention to set up the offense. Lowering my center of gravity, I slowed my dribble. Rondo guarded me leaning slightly toward my right side because he knew I preferred driving to the right before shooting. I took note of everything. I signaled my teammates to cut and move, knowing that was the only way to fool him. He clearly fell for the bait, once again lowering his center of gravity to ensure he wouldn't get shaken out of his shoes, but I knew that two seconds later, he would realize he had been duped.

One! I dribbled to the right! My motion looked languid, as if I were still searching for an opening. He reached out a hand, trying to block my path!

Two! With a behind-the-back dribble, I shifted the ball to my left! Lightning fast! Rondo scrambled his entire body to the left without lunging forward! I knew the opportunity had arrived!

Three! I leaped upward, elevating the ball above my head! Same motion, same sound. I could feel him crouching down, gazing upward at my shot.

If a defender gave me an inch of space, I would never grant him that inch of time to close out on me!

Perhaps, in his desperation, Rondo had forgotten: my most lethal weapon wasn't necessarily my rapid driving penetration—since half the time I didn't even know why I was driving myself—my most dangerous asset was my shot, because my shot served only one singular purpose: scoring.

Hang on just a little longer, and the Celtics were bound to collapse! Because I was dead tired! I was only twenty-five! They were all thirty-five! Our stamina levels were worlds apart.

Yet, clearly, things took me by surprise! Right after I scored, they rapidly inbounded the ball, actually looking for a fast break! Pierce and Rondo! I was stunned!

The two of them sprinted down the court. I managed to get slightly ahead of Rondo, but he could change direction at any moment, rendering my defense null and void. Cairns hustled back on defense as well. The current situation was a two-on-two. I sprinted to the free-throw line, turning sideways to await Rondo's arrival. I knew the probability of me stopping his shot was slim. Reaching the free-throw line, Rondo utilized a sudden change of direction, driving straight past my body toward the rim. I concluded he would go for a layup, because if he did, he would be very difficult to guard. His wingspan was immense; I didn't dare swipe at the ball blindly, and even if I did, the chances of touching the ball were slim, while fouling his hand was practically guaranteed. I braced myself tightly against the basket, purely hoping to contest his shot and secure the rebound if he missed. But roughly 0.3 seconds later, I knew I was wrong. What is a stroke-of-genius pass? It's when everyone thinks a player is going for a layup, yet he chooses to dish the ball off instead. I couldn't quite follow the sequence in real-time, but I guessed that as he collided with my body driving toward the rim—just as I made the primary read that he was shooting—he switched the ball to his left hand and deftly flicked it backward to the trailing Pierce. As my feet hit the floor, the massive frame of Pierce filled my vision like a blotting sky as he slammed the ball through the hoop. It was truly unimaginable that the guy dunking the ball was someone who had once survived being slashed over a dozen times, clawing his way back from the jaws of death.

Their tenacity vastly exceeded my expectations.

Holding the ball, I noticed Coach Nelson on the sidelines displaying a steadfast determination. That determination lay in his unwavering belief in my ability to fulfill my duty—stretching the lead before I headed to the bench for a breather.

And then there was Avril. Although she wasn't seated close, I had given her a floor-side VIP ticket! I could still make out her tense expression. Looking at her face, I figured I had plenty of reasons to remain calm.

I slowed my pace!

I could faintly hear the sound of everyone's breathing on the court. Garnett, Ray Allen, and Pierce all seemed to have lost the rhythm of their breathing slightly, while Rondo and Cairns were holding up okay. And of course, there was myself—I knew how to regulate my heart rate, breathing, and dribbling rhythm. This was a secret I rarely shared with others.

I began to dribble! Everyone was watching me—my teammates and opponents alike! I knew this was a golden opportunity! Executing a direct, rapid dribble, my teammates caught on instantly, sprinting hard into the frontcourt. I executed a crossover weave with Cairns. During the intersection, I spotted Aix in his favorite spot—the deep corner three-point line. Hehe, with all eyes locked on me, I knew his moment had arrived! I fired a bounce pass right to him. Catching the ball, he glanced down to verify his feet were safely behind the arc, and launched it without a moment's hesitation! After releasing the ball, he held his shooting follow-through and sprinted toward me, clearly eager to celebrate! Sure enough, the ball swished smoothly through the net, and Aix and I slapped hands in celebration. I was genuinely thrilled!

How many consecutive possessions had I scored or assisted on? I had lost count!

I spotted a joyful gesture from the opposing bench—the Celtics coach was signaling the referee for a timeout!

Haha! They were the ones who couldn't hold on after all!

Even though our lead was a mere three points! This was undeniably a psychological advantage!

It was time for Curry and our bench unit to step onto the floor. I knew that as long as Curry played, he wouldn't perform any worse than me, and our situation wouldn't become overly passive. The Celtics also deployed their reserves.

Shortly after entering the game, Curry hoisted an uncontested three-pointer, but it missed its mark. Upon bringing in their bench, the Celtics ramped up their interior offense, repeatedly feeding the ball to their post players. Even without Garnett, the Celtics still possessed formidable interior firepower, converting on back-to-back possessions.

Instead, my team fell behind. I glanced at Coach Nelson; he appeared completely composed. I had every reason to trust him, so my own choice was to remain calm as well.

Next, however, Curry committed a turnover! The opponent immediately capitalized with a fast-break score!

I was slightly baffled as to why Curry was performing so poorly. Yet when I looked over at Nelson, the old man remained utterly unperturbed.

Yet another clogged-paint defensive stand by the Celtics led to another turnover for us!

I unconsciously stood up from my seat. I looked at Nelson—he was still that unflappable. Had he bumped into some stunning beauty last night or something? Acting like this.

Avril poked me in the back with her finger from the row behind! Her gesture seemed to ask why I wasn't back in the game yet. I figured I had no time to explain to her; I needed to watch the game and understand the unfolding situation on the court!

I had no idea why I cared so deeply about this single match! I had lost plenty of games before, but in neither of my two previous seasons had we secured such an exceptional start. I didn't want a single defeat to shatter our confidence in extending our winning streak.